


tempest

by thedeadleaves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Female Robert Baratheon, Multi, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26388010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadleaves/pseuds/thedeadleaves
Summary: Jocelyn sometimes forgot she was not truly a caged storm, that she and the tumultuous waves were separate from one another. It was hard to tell where she stopped and the other began. They were both ready to batter down castle walls when roused. She had been a Baratheon her entire life. It was expected. Of course she laughed like the sea clashing against the cliffs. Of course it hurt when she was often told to calm her fury. Of course she was a little turbulent. But when a certain Dragon Prince walked into her life, Jocelyn found another person as tempestuous as her—only he hid it much, much better.
Relationships: Cassana Baratheon/Steffon Baratheon, Robert Baratheon & Stannis Baratheon, Robert Baratheon/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	1. spring

**269 AC**

Father promised to bring Jocelyn to court when she was seven.

“You will have to be good, poppet,” Mother said and then shot her a withering glare when she focused on the lovely gown commissioned for her official debut at royal court. It was a pale seafoam gown made from a rich bolt of Volantene silk and thickly powdered with opals at the bodice—oh, how it would make the other girls envious! She walked as lightly as an Essosi acrobat in her new slippers and giggled, curls flying. 

When Mother realized her eldest child was not listening, she sighed, “I yearn for the day when you will be old enough to be married and sent to your husband’s home.” 

“For that Mother,” Jocelyn called out as she twirled and watched her skirts fan out like a peacock on display, “I will endeavour to stay at Storm’s End my entire life!”

* * *

“Rhaegar’s not very impressive. I want him to be a great warrior—not Baelor the Blessed.” Jocelyn pouted, not speaking to any Targaryen but loud enough to be heard by them all the same. She bristled in disappointment, ready to be charmed by her Targaryen cousin—a result of the fantastical stories and rumors that spread to Storm’s End—but Stannis stilled her with a hand on her arm. 

“He is still the Prince,” Stannis reminded severely, already a middle-aged homebody. “You owe him better than to criticize him at his own nameday feast.” 

Jocelyn sighed dramatically, leaning back in her seat and placing a hand on her forehead. “What am _I_ owed then? He has shut himself up in his dusty library and does not play with me at all. How dreadfully dull!” 

Stannis groaned, “Just eat your potatoes, Jocelyn.” 

Huffing, she shoved them into her mouth and spoke with her cheeks full of food, spraying everywhere. “You know that I am right, little brother.”

* * *

“I have heard you are not terribly impressed by me.” A voice called out behind her as she fought with Stannis. Today was one of the rarest of all occasions—Stannis bent enough to allow her to participate in the ‘boys only’ activities out on the training fields. 

She whirled around and gasped when she saw Prince Rhaegar standing in middle of the courtyard. His white knights were behind him and looked terribly out of place amongst the dummies. Without hesitation, she inspected him—up and down—and shook her head. “I’m not.”

“Jocelyn,” Stannis hissed. 

A part of her wished she could have shared the excitement the other girls at court felt for the Prince but with a Targaryen grandmother who was prone to spinning tales of her wild childhood and a war hero father, it was difficult to be inspired by bookishness. 

“When snow melts, what does it become?” He asked abruptly, tilting his head to the side and giving her the queerest expression.

She blinked owlishly at him and answered, “Spring.” 

The other boys sniggered at her foolish answer. Most would have answered water but Jocelyn refused to be cowed. 

“It is a shame you regard me in such a manner, my lady, for you are most impressive to me.” He murmured before departing. 

Later, she wondered what it was she said that charmed Rhaegar so badly, and assumed it was a trait inherited by all the male dragons, to be attracted to the oddest sorts of women, for she knew no man who would be captivated by a girl who disliked them. The thought was swiftly forgotten for she was merely seven and Rhaegar ten, after all, and children were prone to flights of fancy. 

* * *

**275 AC**

When she flowered and her gangly frame turned tall and svelte, Father brought her to King’s Landing once more. Mother had the idea that perhaps they would find an appropriate husband, a firm one, for their wild daughter in the capital where the Stormlands failed to produce a son who was both good-natured and unyielding. 

“If you were Targaryens,” Grandmother Rhaelle had quipped cheekily when they presented the idea to her, “then you would not have to go to such extreme means—you could marry her off to Stannis and be done with it.” 

But Stannis was to marry Lyanna Stark and Father did not view Ned Stark—Stannis’ closest friend and a young boy he vouched strongly for—of sufficient social standing for Jocelyn. So there they were, in King’s Landing, where no one even pretended to like her, husband hunting and Jocelyn tried very hard not to mind the loneliness. 

_If only Stannis wasn’t in the blasted Eyrie,_ she grumbled. _Mother and Father are so busy._

At least she had Grandmother Rhaelle who decided now that her blasted siblings, Jaehaerys and Shaera, were dead in the ground that, perhaps, enough time had passed by where King’s Landing would not feel so stifling. Grandmother loved her, even with all the bitterness that festered when her elder siblings abandoned their duties and when Summerhall burned to a crisp, and so she agreed to travel to the capital. 

_That was enough_ , Jocelyn told herself when she only had Grandmother to play with, when she only had Grandmother to gossip with, when she only had Grandmother to eat biscuits with. 

She would like a friend, though, as she watched Mina Tyrell shriek and holler with her companions. 

_Just one. Like how Stannis has his Ned._

* * *

Grandmother noticed her loneliness and extended an invitation to invite Elia Martell, newly arrived at court, to afternoon tea. If Jocelyn was not so desperate for company, she would not have deigned to spend her time with the Dornish for fear of angering her mother’s conservative sensibilities. Stannis inherited his priggishness from the Estermont side of their family, after all. 

Elia Martell was a princess by birth who gave up her title when she wed the doting, dashing Baelor Brightsmile and was a bit older than Jocelyn. She smiled brightly like the gleam of the sun hitting a lake. 

“How do you find the capital so far?” Jocelyn asked conversationally. Next to delicate little Elia, she felt positively gargantuan so she tried her best to remain refined. 

“It is … different,” Elia offered cautiously. 

Jocelyn reached an understanding and tittered sympathetically. “It does not smell good here but if you rub oil under your nose, it is tolerable enough.” 

They giggled at that, clutching at their sides. 

“I admit I underestimated you, when you appeared at the name day feast so many years ago and charmed the Prince,” Elia admitted, dunking one of the biscuits into her tea and nibbling with mouse-like daintiness. 

Jocelyn broke off a piece of her lemon cake, “I don’t recall saying much to the Prince. He didn’t cut a splendid figure—all I saw was a little boy with his head in the books. Dreadfully dull chap.” 

Elia Martell giggling, a twinkling sound, “You haven’t a clue how enraptured the Prince is with you, my dear.” 

Now that was news. 

“If he is,” Jocelyn shrugged, “I can’t say that I feel the same.” She sighed dreamily, “I wish he was a bit more like your brother—now _there’s_ an interesting fellow. He’s been to faraway places.” 

“My brother is not the sort of man you would want to marry,” Elia began carefully. 

Jocelyn flapped her hand impatiently and made a noise in the back of her throat. “I am merely in admiration of him—my mother—” she pouted spectacularly, as if denied a sweet treat, “—has never let me out of her sight, let alone travel the realm.” 

Oberyn Martell’s smile was as sharp as his sister’s was sweet, when he dropped by later, but his eyes watched carefully, and Jocelyn was very glad she was not going to wed the Red Viper because she was not sure if she could have endured such constant scrutiny. Dornish snake he was through and through. 

Still she looped her arm with his and asked, “Might we be friends? I hear you have the most delicious tales to tell.”

* * *

**276 AC**

Mother and Father were growing desperate. Already, Jocelyn had scared away Brandon Stark, Mace Tyrell, and Elbert Arryn. None of the other boys seemed interested in her either and, seeing as they were snot-nosed pansies, the feeling was quite mutual. Oh, the tales she wrote to Elia and Oberyn and the names they came up with for her suitors! It would put any court fool’s jests to shame. 

But she was nearly ten-and-five and it was time for her to wed, lest she die an old maid. 

All talks of betrothing her to some freckled Redwyne were swiftly squashed during Mother’s nameday feast. There was an announcement—the Targaryens had arrived without earlier notice—and the entire hall was in a flurry of excitement. 

Jocelyn watched the tall figure dismount from the horse with ease and asked, “Has he finally tired of moping in the ruins of Summerhall?”

At the same time, Mother and Stannis whispered, "Be quiet!"

There was no mistaking the silver hair, even in this distance, and seeing as Aerys rarely left the Red Keep it could only be Rhaegar. 

“Lord Baratheon, Lady Baratheon,” Rhaegar Targaryen greeted them with all the courtesy and charm of a prince of the realm, looking as though there was nothing unusual about the situation at all. “I do hope you’ll forgive me for not sending a raven ahead to notify you of my arrival.” 

“Prince Rhaegar,” Father managed to say in greeting, his voice a little stiffer than usual. He disliked his Targaryen relations enormously—it was no secret to his children—so the arrival of Rhaegar put him on edge, but instead forced himself to say. “It is no matter. Welcome to Storm’s End, my prince.”

“Thank you. It has been a short but painfully tiring journey. I am afraid I must impose upon your hospitality, Cousin Steffon.” 

“But of course,” Mother cut in as Father gaped openly at the Prince who was looking around the great hall. The forced smile on her lips marred her elegant beauty, all blanched skin and petrified wide eyes. “But King’s Landing is quite a while away from here, and if I may be so bold to ask …” She gave one quick glance at the Prince’s large retinue—white cloaks and all—before continuing, undaunted, “May I inquire as to why you are here, my prince?” 

Rhaegar looked at them serenely, the melancholy edge to his eyes making him more mysterious than the rumors suggested, “I have come to claim my bride, of course.”


	2. dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jocelyn is met with a choice.

**276 AC**

“Lady Jocelyn, my love,” Rhaegar said gently, staring at her with such unabashed affection that she wrinkled her nose. Another lovestruck boy who only saw her for her beauty. How predictable! “I have waited a lifetime to find you, and now that I am here, in the presence of your wondrous beauty, I find myself at a loss for words. You have blossomed into such an enchanting woman. Your hair is like a raven’s—” 

“Yes, that’s all well and good,” she interrupted, thoroughly unimpressed with the prince who was waxing poetic in front of her, “but I am not to be your bride.”

Prince Rhaegar recoiled as though she had dealt him a horrible blow, “W-what do you mean? I have dreamt—” 

“You have dreamt wrong, then,” she corrected bluntly. 

“On my tenth nameday, I dreamt that I would meet a maiden with skin as fair as snow and hair blacker than ebony,” he continued, looking as though she was a child who did not comprehend his words, “and she was to be my bride. Then I asked you a question—you were the only person to ever answer it correctly,” he reminded her, looking a tad miffed. “From that day forward, I knew you were to be my bride. It is destined.” 

“Your  _ what?”  _ She screeched at the same time Stannis blurted out, “I beg your pardon?”

Jocelyn and Stannis exchanged worried looks. Had the Targaryens finally gone mad? 

“Prince Aegon,” Cassana Baratheon began, her voice trembling. “It seems as though there is a misunderstanding… Your father—” 

It was known that King Aerys held onto the notion of finding his son a bride of Valyrian descent. A sennight ago, her parents received a royal order from the King to journey to the East in order to find Rhaegar a bride. 

The prince shook his head. “My father has finally given his consent.” At that the prince pulled out a long scroll of parchment, sealed with the King’s three-headed dragon stamp. “I have been granted permission to wed your daughter, Jocelyn Baratheon.”

“Eh?” Jocelyn’s eyes went wide. 

“Many years ago, I met a little girl in King’s Landing,” he confessed, pratting on nonsensically. “She told me she was not impressed by my bookishness—truthfully, no one had ever told me that to my face and I was curious. What would possess her to be so bold? I saw her playing with her brother in the training yard. She wielded a sword well and I asked her what snow turned into when it melted. She told me spring. She was not impressed with me but I was thoroughly impressed with her that day and I fell in love with her from afar. Now that she is of age, I have come for her.” 

Jocelyn’s reaction was instant and she burst out laughing, “You’re a bloody idiot! I don’t even know you!” 

“But  _ I  _ know you,” Rhaegar insisted, capturing her hand and placing it to the area of his chest. “Once upon a dream—” 

“That doesn’t count—” 

“But this does! I know you like spiced biscuits best and you wish to have a sword more than anything else. I know you ride like a warrior. I know you have scared away all your suitors—” he grinned softly, “Were you waiting for me?” 

She gasped, unprepared for the sheer insanity in front of her. When had she ever spoken to Rhaegar for him to know all those details? 

Rhaegar flashed a shy smile at her when the flush from utter horror dawned on her face. “You were, weren’t you? You knew we were meant to be together!” He exclaimed with excitement and, without warning, he wrapped his arms around her again, heedless of the dumbstruck audience currently watching their every move. 

She slapped him soundly across the face. The sound rang across the Great Hall. “You’re insane! Are you daft? I speak to you once and you think you’re in love with me?” 

The prince gawked at her, looking completely stunned and unprepared for her violent reaction. He held a hand to his red cheek and repeated calmly, “I have waited for you, my lady.” 

“No,” she argued, a stubborn scowl etched onto her face and behind her, Mother made a noise of disapproval. “You never asked me to marry you.”

“But … but …” Rhaegar sputtered, completely flummoxed. 

“What sort of man are you?” She continued, her tirade not finished. “You never asked me to marry you, you never approached me when I was at the capital. Then you come to my home, my ancestral home, and demand I marry you?” She whirled around, “If claimed to have loved me so much, why did you never talk to me?” 

“Because you told Elia Martell that you would not fancy a man who was not a knight,” he argued. “I was busy training—to impress you—and now that I have become a knight—” 

She gaped at him. 

Rhaegar offered his hand again, and in his eyes she saw an idiot, “I will ask you properly, then. Would you do me the honor of being my bride, Jocelyn Baratheon?”

* * *

“Would you all stop gawking at me like I am an exotic animal?” Jocelyn asked irritatedly. Her family was mutinously clustered in her bedchambers and she growled in frustration. 

Mother stubbornly shook her head and informed severely. “I will not leave. As your mother, I have a duty to ensure you won’t ruin your chance to marry well.”

“Do you know how ridiculous you sound?” Jocelyn sighed and undid her long plait. “My happiness? When have you cared about my happiness?” 

“Don’t be rude,” Mother scolded, taking up the brush from her mantle and moving to comb through Jocelyn’s wild curls. “As your mother, I want the best for you and there is no finer prospect than the Prince of Dragonstone—” 

Father looked deep in contemplation. “I’m not so sure about her wedding  _ that  _ boy. His head does not seem to be screwed on correctly…” 

Mother ignored his comment and stared at Jocelyn with a mixture of exasperation and relief. “I can’t imagine what you said to charm him so thoroughly, my love,” she hummed. “Imagine that! My unruly daughter and Prince Rhaegar trying to woo you. It’s rather romantic, don’t you think?”

“There’s nothing romantic about it—he’s stupider than mud—”

“But it is an opportunity you cannot give up,” Mother argued back indignantly, looking horrified. “After you slapped him,” she shuddered, “I was sure he would take all of our heads. You must pray Aerys does not catch wind of it.”

“But he started it!” 

Stannis rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly how the future Queen of Westeros should act,” he drawled in a poor attempt to tease. 

“You didn’t do anything to protect me from that horrible little cretin. All you did was stand there and offer him lodgings,” she muttered darkly at Stannis.

“No matter what I think of our crown prince to offer him anything less than our full hospitality would be nothing short of dishonorably, and I assure you that I have no plans to sully our family name.” Stannis gritted.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she muttered something about uncooperative younger brothers under her breath. “I won’t be his bride. I  _ won’t!”  _

Mother yanked on a strand of hair hard and looked at her with wide green eyes. “Why not? You won’t find a better match than him. You know I’m right. Jocelyn, don’t you ruin your chance at a good future—”

“There will be no need to find a better match than him after he leaves,” Jocelyn informed imperiously, “because I intend to live here my entire life. Stannis shan’t kick me out when he becomes the Lord of Storm’s End,” She gave her brother an expectant look. “His pride won’t allow it.”

They all turned to Stannis who snarled, “That doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate you shirking your family duty and living here as an old maid—” 

“I won’t be an old maid—” she smirked, “I would like to travel the world and bring back boats of wonderful treasures from the East. Perhaps even a few handsome men…”

“I will chain you to the castle walls before you turn yourself into some lowly whore—” 

There was no point in continuing the conversation with Stannis then. He was a lost cause. 

“Wouldn’t you rather stay the most important man in my life?” She turned to her father and batted her lashes with a newfound sweetness. Father melted and moved to brush aside her curls. “Really, do I have to wed? Won’t you be lonely without me to entertain you? All Mother and Stannis do is give you grief…” 

Father looked at her sadly, “If it were up to me, darling, I’d let you stay here forever but that won’t be the case.” 

“But—but I don’t  _ like  _ him,” she objected heavily, stomping her feet. “He’s a stupid prince.” 

“Precisely, he is a prince. A prince who is quite taken with you,” Her father added, clearly looking like he wanted to be somewhere else judging from the way he eyed mother carefully. “You are a bit too young to wed, so your mother will ensure the two of you have ample time to get to know one another.” 

It was Stannis who convinced her. 

“If you insist on being unruly and unwomanly, then he is your own true prospect. The Crown Prince,” Stannis looked at her with aggravation, “seems to be the only man who is enough of a fool to put a sword in your hand and allow you to run wild.”

Father would have let her fight with a sword but Mother squashed those notions before they even came to fruition.

“A sword,” she repeated, amazed by the fact that she hadn’t even thought of that herself. “I could be a warrior queen.” She peered at Stannis giddily, who began to look more horrified at his words, “I  _ must  _ marry him then. Besides, if he displeases, I could always kill him after he puts a son in me. Oh, Stannis!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed. “You are a bloody genius!”

* * *

She marched resolutely toward Rhaegar, who was sitting on the ground playing his harp and there was something serene about his face that tugged at her, and without meaning to, she found herself unable to look away. She stared at him—at the glimpse of the boy who hadn’t truly registered as important in her mind and still didn’t—and thought,  _ Oh this won’t be so bad.  _

He seemed easy enough to bully into submission and Grandmother Rhaelle told her, before she passed away from the queer sweating illness, that men who were easily cowed by their wives were the easiest sorts of husbands. 

“Prince Rhaegar,” she called out. He scrambled onto his feet. “Thank you for waiting.”

The Prince smiled at her, looking amused and when he got up from the ground she noted he was barely a few inches taller than her. “I have waited seven years, Jocelyn. A few hours would not make a difference to the lifetime we shall spend—” 

“I will marry you,” she announced.

He blinked in surprise and took a moment to comprehend her words, “My lady…”

“Wait, I’m not done yet,” she added hurriedly, moving away from him as he stumbled forward. “I have terms. You will not shunt me into the background. I will be your wife, not your ornament or broodmare,” she sniffed, “And you will not take another woman as your wife. If you must,” she sighed heavily, “I will permit you to take a mistress, discreetly, provided she consumes moontea like water but I will not allow you to make a Naerys Targaryen out of me. I am to be your queen and you will treat me with the respect I am due.”

He smiled serenely, “You were meant to be my queen. This is the tale I have known. It is older than time itself.”

“You really  _ are  _ an idiot. Aren’t you?” She deadpanned. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think :)


End file.
